When my anxiety becomes too high, or my stress levels can't handle what's in front of me, I want it gone.
It came to a head last night: my first vivid nightmare in over 6 months. I shot awake with tears down my cheeks (I rarely cry). Luckily it wasn't a full blown terror.
Growing up, it was beaten into me that it was always my fault. Always. That mindset still follows me. At its worst point, people would glance my way and automatically I believed I did something wrong, and a pathetic sorry would fall out of my mouth.
I used to enjoy these sorts of mini-quizzes in the beginning days of social media. It's kinda nice to know real people are behind these words.
That's the state I'm now, that's the state I've been in, and that's the mental sludge I force through every day. The more I go forward the harder the sludge becomes.
Having a mental illness of any kind creates niches of speech communities. All seem to share language that is hard to ignore, and sometimes gets in the way of treatment.
All I knew was being obese, being inactive, and not giving a fuck what food I ate increased the odds of my cancer coming back. Never would I be an eating disorder.